


You Don't Have to Whisper

by capyshota



Series: A Guide to Navigating Your Dead Brother's Voyeurism [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Assisted Masturbation, Ben's POV, Incest Kink, M/M, Non-Contact Sexual Encounters, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 06:12:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18772867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capyshota/pseuds/capyshota
Summary: Ben walks towards his brother, guilt curling in his stomach that his own death is now haunting Klaus’ dreams.Obviously Ben’s death had taken a toll on the entire family, but Klaus wasn’t given the same opportunity to heal. Having the ghost of your recently deceased brother looming around you at all hours of the day can make it a little hard to forget.Klaus grits his teeth and Ben can see his jaw shift under the skin.“Ben, I—f-fuck, s’good,” he groans.Ben freezes.The phantom memory of his heart skipping a beat plays in his chest.This… might not actually be a nightmare.





	You Don't Have to Whisper

Klaus is only ever restful in his sleep because he doesn’t get enough of it.  
  
Once the high wears off, the crash is near instantaneous. Some nights, he doesn’t even make it through the doors of a building, collapsing on the street in a heap of faux fur and leather. Tonight, however, he is tucked safely in his childhood bed in the mansion, and his sleep is anything but restful.  
  
Ben is drawn from the final few pages of his book, something he’s read upwards of thirty times, by a quiet groan. He glances sideways at Klaus, who shifts onto his back in his sleep.  
  
His last high had been over a full day ago so it isn’t a stretch to believe that the dead are starting to break down the wall, nightmares creeping into Klaus’ sleep. Sometimes they’re so visceral that Ben can hear the screams from within his head.  
  
He remembers the day Klaus had come back from the mausoleum; he hadn’t spoken to anyone for hours. Ben had snuck down the hall to his room after curfew and sat with him all night while he’d cried. The next morning he was bright-eyed and smiling, chatting with everyone like nothing had happened. That was the point at which Ben started to wonder just how much of Klaus’ carefree exterior was by design.  
  
“N-no, don’t—”  
  
Ben snaps his book shut and closes his eyes. Thirteen years of being dead, and he still hasn’t found a way to ignore the pain in Klaus’ voice; his empathy certainly hadn’t died with the rest of him.  
  
And it isn’t as if he can just walk away. Perhaps as a joke, some cosmic force had leashed him to Klaus in death like an apathetic pet dog. He could always disappear, take a step back from reality, but the nothingness feels too much like when Klaus gets high to push Ben away—it hurts even more.  
  
“I…I can’t—”  
  
There’s a whiny undertone to Klaus’ speech and Ben clenches his fists briefly before standing up. He studies the posters on the walls, the string of fairy lights, the old bead curtain, anything to keep his attention off of—  
  
“B-Ben…”  
  
He looks over to the bed and Klaus’ eyelids are fluttering in unconsciousness, long lashes casting shadows across his cheekbones.  
  
Ben walks towards his brother, guilt curling in his stomach that his own death is now haunting Klaus’ dreams. Obviously Ben’s death had taken a toll on the entire family, but Klaus wasn’t given the same opportunity to heal. Having the ghost of your recently deceased brother looming around you at all hours of the day can make it a little hard to forget.  
  
Klaus grits his teeth and Ben can see his jaw shift under the skin.  
  
“Ben, I—f-fuck, s’good,” he groans.  
  
Ben freezes.  
  
The phantom memory of his heart skipping a beat plays in his chest.  
  
This… might not actually be a nightmare.  
  
Klaus’ toes curl where they peek out from beneath his sheets, nails a glossy black, and his hips shift slightly, drawing Ben’s attention to…  
  
Yeah, definitely not a nightmare.  
  
By this point in his existence, his embarrassment really shouldn’t be as prominent as it is; he’s seen Klaus in every possible state and probably most sexual positions known to humankind. He used to turn away, but then he’d figured that since he had never gotten to experience any…  _anything_ , why shouldn’t he be able to live vicariously through his brother?  
  
…It had sounded rational when he’d first made the decision, at least.  
  
After a while he’d started getting the impression that Klaus maybe, sort of…  _liked_  when he watched. And Ben definitely didn’t hate it.  
  
Klaus begins whimpering, fingers grasping at the sheets and knees crooking slightly.  
  
Ben leans against the large desk adjacent to the bed and bites his lip, gaze bouncing from between Klaus’ legs up to his throat and back.  _It’s just an erection_.  
  
But… with Ben’s name tied to it, it feels like a whole lot more.  
  
This is definitely a new occurrence. Usually Klaus is so thoroughly unconscious that not even arousal can infiltrate his sleep. And when it does, there aren’t ever names attached to the moans—none of his lovers are that consistent.  
  
“Ben-n…yeah,” Klaus gasps.  
  
There’s a very small, hardly perceptible voice in his head telling him that this is weird. Moaning your dead brother’s name during a wet dream? Sure, it’s a little strange. But a far louder and more convincing voice is telling him that it’s  _hot as hell_.  
  
Arousal is a curious state to be in when there’s no physical response to accompany it. After finding out that he was doomed to walk the earth even in death, the second most impactful realization Ben had was that he couldn’t even pop a boner.  
  
Klaus starts murmuring under his breath, unintelligible little sounds of pleasure, and Ben doesn’t know what to do.  
  
He’s struck with the overwhelming desire to reach out and touch Klaus—his face, his chest, anything. So he does… sort of.  
  
He takes a half-step forward and runs one finger along where Klaus’ jaw is, imagining the warmth and the scratch of his stubble.  
  
Klaus’ eyebrows knit together and his mouth falls open. The bob of his Adam’s apple indicates something spoken that never makes it past his lips.  
  
He trails his finger up over Klaus’ lower lip, bitten red and slightly chapped.  
  
Ben missed intimacy. Not sex, no, he’d never had that opportunity, but he missed tucking his head into Klaus’ shoulder, warm arms wrapping around him when he was overwhelmed, he missed the fingers that stroked through his hair, and the hand that squeezed his own to give him courage before a mission.  
  
Klaus is mostly naked, a pair of briefs that Ben is fairly certain he stole from a past lover sitting low on his hips, and the bed sheet tangled around his thighs.  
  
Living vicariously was one thing, doing it through Klaus was another entirely.  
  
Ben likes to pretend what he feels for Klaus is newfound—something that came from years of watching him evolve as a sexual being—but he would be lying if he said those feeling weren’t there in some form or another when he was alive. He usually blames their forced isolation and nonexistent socialization outside of the mansion, but even then he sometimes wonders if it still would’ve been Klaus.  
  
Extravagant scenarios where they had never been adopted, where Ben met Klaus at school, at a bar, on the street, anywhere other than this stupid, awful house. How would their lives be different? Thirteen years without the opportunity to interact with anyone or anything except his brother has given him some time to imagine.  
  
For years, watching Klaus fall into a different bed every few nights was both a blessing and one hell of a curse. Sometimes, when Klaus was in the middle of a particularly good fuck, Ben would close his eyes and just listen, pretending he was the one making Klaus moan.  
  
“…Tell me what you want,” Ben whispers, so low Klaus probably wouldn’t even hear it in consciousness.  
  
His finger travels down Klaus’ throat to the dip between his collarbones then withdraws.  
  
“Nn… f—like th-that.”  
  
Klaus shivers despite the sweat beading on his forehead and starts rocking his hips, thigh muscles clenching weakly while he loses himself in the dream. He stretches one arm out as if he’s reaching for something and passes through Ben’s torso. Ben follows the hand with his gaze as it curls back into Klaus’ chest then sneaks towards his—  
  
“F-fu-uck,” Klaus groans, the heel of his palm digging into his cock. “B-Ben, yeah.”  
  
Ben bites his tongue, a numb sort of buzzing that he’s come to know as arousal humming through his limbs. It’s a restless energy with no blood to pump through his heart or between his legs, but it’s pleasant enough. And hearing his name from between his brother’s lips while he’s touching himself… The buzz is a little stronger than usual.  
  
“Klaus,” Ben whimpers under his breath, “You look so good. So… so fucking good.”  
  
Klaus’ unoccupied hand trails up his chest, dragging close-cut nails across the skin to leave pink marks that Ben can only see with the moonlight streaming through the window.  
  
“A-ah, mhm…” Klaus squeezes his legs together and his lip curls up into a soundless snarl.  
  
Ben swallows thickly, eyes trained on the bulge in Klaus’ briefs.  
  
“…Does it feel good? My… my hand on your cock?”  
  
Klaus whines as he lifts his head up and throws it back down against the pillow.  
  
Despite his years of exposure, Ben hasn’t quite been desensitized to the concept of dirty talk. He keeps his voice low, self-consciousness a constant weight in his chest. He wants Klaus to come, just once, for him rather than anybody else.  
  
“You like it when I touch you? Want me to get you off?”  
  
Klaus lets out an airy laugh, “F-fuck, yeah, I do.”  
  
Ben clamps his mouth shut suddenly.  
  
That had sounded suspiciously like an answer.  
  
He looks up and, upon meeting Klaus’ gaze, takes an instinctive step back and turns away. He wants to retract into his shell, suddenly regretting ever looking away from his book.  
  
Just before he can disappear, a quiet, whimpered, “Ben,” stops him.  
  
He turns back around slowly and Klaus blinks up at him, smudged eyeliner highlighting his blown pupils.  
  
“Don’t stop,” he gasps, still grinding against his own hand.  
  
Ben frowns, arousal rising again to compete with his embarrassment. In all his years of fantasizing, this isn’t a situation that had ever popped up.  
  
“I… I can’t—”  
  
“You can,” Klaus laughs, desperation creeping into his voice. “You can. You were just doing it—so—fucking—well.” He punctuates each word with a little curl of his hips. “Please, Benny.”  
  
Ben clenches his jaw and resists the urge to blink out of existence.  
  
“…What do you want me to say?”  
  
Klaus visibly loses tension in his shoulders, relieved by Ben’s decision.  
  
“Shit,  _anything_. You could read me a recipe for potato salad and I’d probably get off.”  
  
The corner of Ben’s mouth quirks up. Klaus had always been able to calm Ben down, and he’s glad that hadn’t changed after his death.  
  
“…” Ben opens then closes his mouth, taking a moment to think. “…I want to make you come for me,” he whispers.  
  
Klaus whines, turning his gaze to the ceiling before closing his eyes.  
  
“I want to run my hands through your hair… Kiss you like I never had the chance to.” Ben takes a shaky step up to the side of the bed.  
  
“You don’t have to whisper,” Klaus hums, “In fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”  
  
He’s right. Ben’s instinct to keep quiet during nighttime, and especially during illicit activities, has never quite faded away.  
  
“O-okay.” Ben clears his throat. “I… I want to touch your chest,” he says, not quite reaching regular speaking volume. “Feel your heart speed up and know… know that you’re getting hard thinking about me.”  
  
Klaus swallows thickly and pushes his briefs down his thighs, a small victory for Ben. The sight of his cock, flushed and hard, isn’t anything Ben hasn’t seen before, but there’s a whole new meaning behind it now.  
  
“Keep going, baby,” Klaus pleads, starting to jerk himself off.  
  
Ben nods, gaining confidence.  
  
“I want to kiss across your jaw, down your neck, over your chest. I want…”  
  
He nearly starts on a tangent about how he wishes he could cradle Klaus’ head when he’s crashing, squeeze his hand to distract him from his paranoia, but that’s not a rabbit hole they need to start down tonight.  
  
“I want to bite you; taste your skin, your sweat—”  
  
“Yes,  _yes_ , Ben,” Klaus groans.  
  
His hand moves quicker over his cock, hips curling with an easy rhythm. This is usually the point where he’ll start tugging at his hair or pinching his nipples.  
  
With that thought, Ben realizes he has a near comprehensive list of what Klaus likes in bed, and would be hard-pressed to find a better time to use it than now.  
  
“I want to wrap my hand around your throat and feel you gasping for air. See your face turn red and hear you beg.”  
  
“Yeah, Benny,  _fuck_  yeah,” Klaus gasps, nodding his head as his tongue slides over his bottom lip. “What else?”  
  
Ben takes in Klaus’ state—his legs are spread as far as the briefs around his thighs allow, one foot hanging off the side of the bed. His eyes are still shut and his eyebrows are furrowed, concentration showing just as plainly as pleasure on his face.  
  
“…I want to wrap my hand around your cock, Klaus. Jerk you off and drag my nails down your thighs until you’re begging for me.” Ben swallows. “…Wanna feel the way your whole body shivers when you come.”  
  
At this point, it’s just stream of consciousness but Klaus seems to have no complaints judging by the way his hand is moving over his cock.  
  
“Fuck, fuck,  _fuck_.” He starts whimpering like a crude mantra, fucking up into his fist.  
  
Ben knows he’s close, he doesn’t need to say so.  
  
“Gonna come for me, hm?” he murmurs, “…For your brother?”  
  
That’s what does it. Klaus cries, eyes flying open to find Ben in the dark of his room just as he comes.  
  
“Benny,  _Ben_ , yes— _fuck, baby._ ”  
  
The heat in his gaze burns through Ben’s body like a wildfire. Klaus comes across his chest and Ben’s knees go a little weak, unable to tear his gaze away from…  _any_  of it.  
  
With a quiet huff, Klaus collapses back against his pillow, breathing shallowly. Silence reigns for a few moments before Klaus opens his mouth.  
  
“…And the truth comes out.”  
  
It takes a few seconds for the phrase to register is Ben’s mind, but when it does, he scoffs and pointedly looks away from Klaus.  
  
“What? No, you  _begged_  me to do that.”  
  
Klaus props himself up on his side and grins.  
  
“God,  _yes_ , I definitely did,” he says with an air of pride. “But if I was reading the room correctly, you didn’t seem to hate it.”  
  
Ben crosses his arms.  
  
“I—no, I just… y-you…”  
  
Klaus laughs. “Methinks Number Six doth protest too much.”  
  
His smile is distracting Ben from devising a convincing lie and he feels the temptation to give in tugging at his long-dead heart.  
  
“I—”  
  
“You’re a terrible liar, Ben,” Klaus interrupts, “And that’s coming from someone who’s been detained three times just on  _suspicion_  of withholding the truth.”  
  
Ben purses his lips. “…I liked it.”  
  
Klaus leans closer, holding a hand up behind his ear.  
  
“Come again? I’m still a little orgasm-fuzzy, didn’t quite hear you.”  
  
He frequently fantasizes about punching Klaus in the face—twice daily, at least.  
  
Ben crosses his arms and looks straight at Klaus.  
  
“I liked it.”  
  
Klaus leans back, more smug than he has any right to be. “There you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”  
  
Ben clicks his tongue and turns away, looking for where he’d left his book.  
  
“Hey, hey,” Klaus sits up. “Do you wanna… do that again sometime?” It sounds like he’s trying to hook up with Ben at some seedy bar over a peach daiquiri. “Not sure if you could tell, but I fucking  _loved_  that.”  
  
Ben’s lips twitch. “I could tell.” He turns back around.  
  
Klaus rests his chin in his palm and bats his eyelashes up at Ben.  
  
“Is that a ‘yes’?”  
  
Ben doesn’t feel the need to answer. “…Hey, so were you really dreaming about me, or was it all just bullshit?”  
  
Klaus frowns, taking a moment to answer.  
  
“Oh! Yeah, I was. That’s the famous Hargreeves good luck for you.”  
  
A little burst of pride bubbles in Ben’s chest while he continues.  
  
“Kinda fucked up, though.” Klaus looks pensive. “…Mm, yeah. You had the—” Klaus plants his elbows against his stomach and flails his arms around in what Ben can only assume is an embodiment of his tentacles. “—the wigglers, and they were, like, hitting me, and it really hurt, but then they were also such tender lovers.”  
  
Ben doesn’t have anything to say to that.  
  
“I prefer the dreams where it’s just you,” Klaus says, his face going soft for a moment and Ben’s lips part slightly.   
  
_There have been other dreams?_    
  
“You and me. Fucking on Diego’s car, fucking at my court-mandated therapy sessions, fucking in dad’s study…” Klaus makes a face. “That last one was actually more of a nightmare.”  
  
Ben’s phantom heartbeat is back with a passion, urging him to say something— _anything_ —reciprocal.  
  
“You… you should get some sleep.”  
  
Or he could say  _that_.  
  
Klaus blinks. “…Yeah. Yeah, I guess I should.”  
  
He looks down at the mess on his chest and visibly contemplates whether he should clean it up now or wait until the morning. The latter wins as he falls back into his bed, and Ben can hear him snoring within minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is also knows as: Benny learns to dirty talk and becomes a Powerful sexual being.  
> And yes, I made the conscious choice to add a single apostrophe after Klaus' name. If it's what Jesus gets, it's what Klaus gets.
> 
> This is my first time trying to put together a series so hopefully it works!  
> Twitter: showxing_  
> Tumblr: okayqueer


End file.
